


Enough

by highboys (orphan_account)



Category: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A photoshoot, not a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Title:** Enough  
 **Fandom:** Axis Powers Hetalia  
 **Characters:** Prussia/Hungary, France/Canada, Spain/Romano  


Half past two, in the afternoon. Elizabeta and Gilbert are in the back of the school, under the shade of the archway, trading terse insults while Francis fiddles with his camera. In between their rather intelligent discourse consisting of perjoratives in Elizabeta's native Magyar or Gilbert's German, they watch Francis frown down at his SLR with some semblance of seriousness until Matthew (or a pretty girl) would pass by and peek shyly from a distance. Antonio is sleeping on the ledge, unaware that Lovino is doodling questionable body parts on his cheek. Gilbert stretches, looking bored, and waits until Matthew looks nervously at them, and Francis finally takes the hint and spares them from the heat. The sooner they could finish with Francis' little art project, the better.

"It's hot," Gilbert says, after a measured moment. Elizabeta would have called it a whine, but it would have offended Gilbert's masculine sensibilities.

"Stop complaining, princess," Elizabeta says, folding her hands behind her back and rising from her seat on the floor. "Give him a few more minutes."

For what? Gilbert thinks, rolling his eyes. Flirting with Alfred Jones' brother? Well, it was nice knowing Francis.

"Hey!" He calls out, instead. "We don't have all day, you know. The awesome me has class."

Lovino snorts, and Matthew turns red. "As if you don't cut," Francis says, a little irritated at the interruption. He turns back to them, anyway, but not before pressing a lingering kiss to the back of Matthew's hand, the soft skin of his knuckles in a manner that Elizabeta would have called tender if it weren't, well, _Francis_.

"You have no romantic bone in your body," Elizabeta says, disappointed, and takes a few steps forward into the open area when Francis motions to them to take their places. Gilbert stands across her, near enough to see the slight dimple on her cheek. It's the closest they've gotten to each other's body without someone getting hit intentionally in the process.

"And your priorities are screwed up," Gilbert says, making a face as he shrugs. He reaches over to pluck a non-existent stray strand of hair from Elizabeta's shoulder, and Elizabeta presses her lips together, smile thinning. "You're shedding."

"Why couldn't they get another model again?" Elizabeta wonders aloud, sounding cross, but the smile's still there, if Gilbert bothers to look for it. Francis snaps a picture.

"Because we look good together," Gilbert says, his smirk falling, only a little. Elizabeta drapes her arms over his shoulders, looks up to meet his gaze, and Gilbert props his hands on her waist, on reflex. "We always do."

She snorts. "Don't count on it," she says, snide and petulant, the only way she knows how to be when around him, and Gilbert laughs, presses his cheek to her forehead, lips touching the top of her head, the tip of her nose, briefly.

"You're sweet," Elizabeta says, after a pause, the only sound coming from Francis' movements, his unheard encouragements in the background. She bites the inside of her cheek, and despite his protests, she knows it's her truth. She'll let him touch her with this brand of gentleness, in spite of the layers of arrogance and hurt that they laid the foundation to. She doesn't say that he's in love with her, the way she would declare his other weaknesss in an offhanded fashion, because then it would make it more real, would make them more acutely conscious of each other.

"Thanks," Gilbert responds, and Elizabeta takes a step back, breaking the brief, unintentional embrace. She's had more passionate ones in her lifetime but this makes her heart ache, absent of passion, but near enough to feel the intake of his breath, to see him swallow the words he contains in his tongue. Is she simply imagining it?

It's useless. They've already ended before they've begun.

"Hey," she says, clearing her throat. If she were a lesser woman, she would be crying, by now. "Want to get a drink after this?"

"You're paying?" Gilbert says, and Elizabeta hits him on the arm, because she doesn't know what else to do.

Enough. This could be enough for both of them.


End file.
